Babel Rebuilt
by sjepstein
Summary: Babylon 5/Battlestar Galactica Cross, circa 2263 B5 Time
1. Default Chapter Title

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Babylon 5/Battlestar galactica

Babel Rebuilt

Chapter 1: The Remnant

"G'Quon said that time was like the twinkle of a star—an eyeblink expressed across millions of years. And what happened with the Humans in the years after the Shadow War was that eyeblink. Events prepared thousands of years past rushed inexorably toward their conflagration and conclusion.

"It was in the second year after the formation of the InterStellar Alliance. I had only recently begun my travels in the company of the Human telepath Lyta Alexander. An object was found that would—again—cause great consternation among the Humans."

—G'Kar, _The Book of the Wanderings_, II: 2-4

Although it was his watch, G'Kar was paying far more attention to his manuscript than to the instruments, otherwise, he might have seen the ship first. Although, perhaps not. Lyta had probably sensed its occupant long before it was in range of G'Kar's sensors.

"Have you ever seen a ship like that?"

G'Kar jumped, startled. He'd thought he was alone in the cockpit, that Lyta was still sleeping. Yet, there she was, standing over his shoulder, peering out the window and at the instruments. _I should have smelled her perfume_, he thought. Unless she'd taken to telepathically blocking that sense specifically so she _could_ sneak up on him… Ignoring that thought for the moment, he gently closed his manuscript, set it aside, and tried to locate the mystery ship.

"I'm afraid I wasn't aware of any other vessels in our immediate neighborhood," G'Kar replied as he scrambled to get a fix on the unknown contact.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to where we're going," Lyta remarked.

The computer finally acquired a visual fix on the object. A small craft, about 50% bigger than a Human starfury, triangular and oblong at the same time. Three fins at the back formed a triangle—not unlike a Minbari design—and a long nose extended forward from it. The ship was listing, leaking a fluid G'Kar surmised was some form of either fuel or coolant, and giving off minimal energy readings.

"Do you suppose there's a pilot?" he asked.

"I don't suppose—there is," Lyta replied. "Comatose. And he might not make it if we don't do something quickly."

G'Kar laughed to himself—not that Lyta couldn't pick up on it, if she wanted to. He supposed he could lecture her on the dangers of bringing aboard strange space wreckage, or about not knowing the pilot's intent. But he reasoned that such arguments would likely be futile. G'Kar had realized at the outset of this journey that he would likely have to very carefully pick his fights with Lyta. And this particular instance wasn't worth it.

"I have dispatched two maintenance bots. They should not have a problem retrieving the craft."

A pair of automated robots jetted out to meet the drifting craft. G'Kar watched the visual telemetry as the two bots grappled the ship. Evidence of weapons fire—violent black streaks—lanced across both sides of the craft. One of the engines—the top one—was completely shattered. And the fuel lines to one of the others were severed. It looked almost, G'Kar thought, as if the Shadows had returned.

Fortunately, according to the sensors, the pilot was in better shape than his ship—although not by much. G'Kar's sick bay was not very extensive, but he did possess a copy of Dr. Franklin's xenomedical database. G'Kar hoped that would be enough.

G'Kar was waiting for Lyta outside the sick bay. 

"You said you have a surprise?" she asked.

"First—I did manage to stabilize him—although he's still in a coma. But I think you're going to find this very interesting." He opened the door and showed her in.

Lyta looked at the bed, and then looked back at G'Kar. "He's _human_!"

On the bed, linked to the rudimentary medical scanners, lay a dark-skinned man wearing the remnants of an unfamiliar brown uniform and flight suit.

G'Kar grinned. "Quite so. Although there are some minor anatomical irregularities, according to Dr. Franklin's database. But I've never seen any humans in uniforms like this, and his ship is like nothing in the database—"

Lyta approached the bed. "G'Kar—in your opinion, would it be fair to say that this man would not be a citizen of Mars, EarthGov, or the InterStellar Alliance?"

"Well, yes, _of course_! Isn't that—"

"Then the prohibitions against unauthorized scanning wouldn't apply here." She stood over him, looking into his face. "The coma is pretty deep," she said. "But I think I can reach him without causing more damage. Although it will take some effort."

G'Kar watched. Lyta closed her eyes, and concentrated. 

"He is a warrior—a fighter pilot. There's a fleet of ships—refugees. Although I can't quite make out from what. And I can't get a position. 

"But they're _human_—not from Earth—this is very clear—they're _looking_ for Earth."

Lyta opened her eyes. "I think that's all I'm going to be able to get, until he recovers."

"Refugee humans, searching for their lost home…" G'Kar remarked. "I was not familiar with such an idea, even in human mythology."

"There _isn't_ such an idea in human mythology—at least not common mythology," Lyta said. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"Then perhaps this is an entirely new discovery. And if there is a fleet of refugees, then we must contact the InterStellar Alliance. I'll contact President Sher—"

"No," Lyta said. "I don't want anything to do with Sheridan." And before G'Kar could make another suggestion, she added, "Or anyone in EarthGov, either."

"We _must_ contact _someone_, Lyta," G'Kar said. "Who would be acceptable to you? Perhaps the Rangers? Or Captain Ivanova?"

Lyta considered for a moment. "You may contact Susan," she said. Then she turned, and left.

Boomer had been missing for more than a day, and Major Apollo was not happy.

As commander of the _Galactica_'s flight wings, the well-being of every fighter pilot in the fleet was his responsibility.

To be fair, his two immediate subordinates, Captains Starbuck and Sheba, were no happier. Starbuck had far more reason to be upset—not only was Boomer one of his best friends, not only was Boomer under Starbuck's command as a member of Blue Squadron, but Boomer had been flying on Starbuck's wing when he was lost.

Apollo felt as responsible for Boomer's loss as if he'd been out there instead of Starbuck. It might have been easier to deal with if Boomer's viper had been destroyed outright. But the thought that a pilot was still lost, out there, somewhere, rankled.

And so Apollo had asked Sheba and Starbuck to accompany him when he went to ask Commander Adama for an unusual dispensation.

"Absolutely not." Adama stood with his back to his officers, looking out the window. 

Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck had gathered in the Commander's quarters to hear his answer.

"If we've already lost one pilot, I can see no valid reason to risk any more. We're short on experience warriors as it is."

"Which is exactly why we _must_ go after Boomer, Father." Apollo replied. 

Adama turned to face his son. "Apollo, your dedication and loyalty to your warriors is commendable. But we can not afford to risk any more resources than we absolutely have to."

"But there doesn't have to be any risk," Apollo said. "We can outfit a shuttle with a laser cannon and extra fuel. We can send two people out, and they can meet up with the fleet at a rendezvous point. Risk would be minimal."

"It's like doubling on three quarters of a pyramid," Starbuck said. "Worst case is a draw. Best case, you win the whole pot."

"Even with that scenario, Starbuck, there's still the chance you could lose the entire hand," Adama countered.

"Commander, there is another scenario we have to consider," Sheba added. "What if Boomer's viper is recovered by the Cylons, and they analyze his navcomputer? That could lead them directly to the fleet."

Adama turned back toward the window. "Take a shuttle," he said finally. "Coordinate a rendezvous point with Colonel Tigh."

"Thank you, Father," Apollo said. "We won't let you down."

The _EAS Warlock_ moved through space like a crouching dancer. Even at low speed, the ship's power was evident.

Captain Susan Ivanova fidgeted in her seat. _Fidgeting_? She thought. _I'm too _old_ to fidget_. But the idea of meeting up with Lyta Alexander made her a little uncomfortable. 

Could be worse, she thought. If she had to meet up with a telepath, then, at least one who'd rejected Psi Corps was the best option. Still, she thought, she didn't like it. She'd heard both from John and from Michael how powerful Lyta had become—how powerful the Vorlons had made her—and it frightened Ivanova. Then again, facing fear was part of her job description.

"Incoming communication, Captain," her comm officer reported.

Ivanova stood and walked to a comm console. "Susan! You look well. You received my message, I take it?" G'Kar's smile and voice seemed to convey something more than pleasure at seeing Ivanova again. There was something else. Relief, maybe?

"G'Kar," she replied. "It's good to see you, too. I take it your journey is going well?"

G'Kar shifted. "For the most part. Apart from this matter, about which I've called you."

"So naturally you wanted to pass your problem off to the nearest available person."

"Not at all, Captain," G'Kar replied. "However, I lack the facilities necessary to deal with this specific situation. And a human life is in the balance."

"Lyta?"

"No, Lyta is quite well. Perhaps it would be best if I showed you."

Ivanova paused. This was starting to sound like trouble—the kind of trouble she hadn't encountered since leaving _Babylon 5_. She sighed. "Alright. I'll be aboard in fifteen minutes."

"I'm looking forward to it, Captain."

Three days gone. G'Kar and Lyta had gone on their way, and left an enigma in Ivanova's lap. She'd sent a detailed report back to Earthdome, but expected no guidance for the foreseeable bureaucratic future. 

She sat at the desk in her quarters, tempted to rip her hair out at the roots. Laid out in front of her was all the information about the stranger that her people had been able to gather. And each piece of information raised a forest of questions—without a single answer between them. Well, except one. Her sickbay had informed her that the unknown pilot would probably live, and might come out of his coma in several days.

_That's something, at least_, she thought. She began to gather up the papers when her commlink sounded.

"Ivanova. Go."

"Captain, I've got a secure line for you coming in from _Babylon 5_."

"_Babylon 5_?" she asked. "Who is it?"

"It's President Sheridan, Ma'am."

Susan shrugged. "I'll take it here," she said, and activated her comm screen.

John appeared on the monitor—in civilian clothes, no less. And was that a _goatee_?

"Susan. It's good to see you," Sheridan said.

"John. I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you'd have your hands full with the Alliance…"

"Susan, I'm afraid this isn't a social call, and I don't want to leave this channel open for too long."

"What's up?" she asked.

"EarthGov forwarded us a copy of the files you sent to them, plus some analysis from IPX. Both EarthGov and the Alliance are concerned about the implications of this discovery. Specifically, EarthGov's afraid to handle the situation at this time. Plus, they felt that the ISA was probably better equipped to handle this sort of situation, and they dropped this in our lap. And I wanted to personally bring you up to speed on what's been learned."

"Can I get a copy of whatever material you've got?" she asked.

"I'm having it sent on another secure channel," Sheridan replied.

Ivanova checked her display. The files were uploading smoothly. It looked like her reading was just beginning. "They're coming through fine, John," she said.

"Good," Sheridan said. "Susan, I want you to know that I'm glad that it's you out there on this one."

"At least it looks like it'll give us the chance to work together again," she said.

John grinned. "Hopefully not for the last time," he said. "Good luck, Susan."

"John—take care. And give my regards to Delenn."

John smiled again, and closed the connection.

Ivanova sat again at her desk, and began paging through the new information Included was a software module for the translator—apparently IPX had been able to break the language from the information gathered from the mystery pilot's ship's systems. A notation on the module caught her eye, though. The xenoarchaeologist—someone named Eilerson—had made a note: "This language is almost pure Indo-European—hardly a challenge. Send something more interesting next time."

Other files detailed the recovered ship's power and weapons systems, including estimated power output. And there was a file on the pilot's biology, with a note from Stephen Franklin—"Subject is evidently human. However, there are minor anatomical differences with Earth humans—including the absence of the appendix without attendant surgical scars. Most notable, however, are differences in non-expressing DNA. The extent of these differences indicate a separation from the baseline gene-pool of not less than ten thousand years."

The last document, at the end of the burst, was Earthdome's analysis of the ship's likely flight path. Ivanova looked it over quickly. At first blush, at least, it matched what her own navigators had figured.

And she figured that if there was going to be an answer to this mystery, that, without her guest being conscious, the best place to look for it would be along that flight path.

Shuttle Number 3 (which Starbuck wanted to nickname _Mercury_ when the modifications had been completed) re-traced Boomer's likely flight path, her sensors sniffing the surrounding space for traces of the lost viper.

Apollo stared out at the stars. They'd been out here for three centons already, and things weren't looking good.

Starbuck was staring at one of the scanner panels, looking confused.

"Did you find something?" Apollo asked, hopefully.

"I don't know—this reading doesn't make sense," Starbuck replied. "I'm picking up fuel traces—two vipers and five Cylon raiders—which was what we faced. But the viper fuel trail reads two centons older than the Cylon fuel. How's that possible?"

"Is there any Cylon wreckage?" Apollo asked.

"I'm not picking up any. But then again, we did hit them pretty hard." Starbuck peered at the panel again. "And there's another signature, too. But I can't make heads or tails of it—"

A thought had been tickling the edge of Apollo's mind for thelast minute. Finally, it expressed itself: "Starbuck, didn't we come across Cylon fuel trails a centon back?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So these aren't from the raiders you shot down—they're from a different squadron."

"You suppose they're still around?" Starbuck asked.

"I don't know. But I sure as hades don't want to take any chances. Charge up the gun, and let's take an evasive post—" And with that, the shuttle shook with an incoming laser volley.

"That answers that question," Starbuck said.

Apollo moved to climb into the newly-mounted laser turret at the top of the shuttle. "I'll take the gun. You keep them from getting a clear shot," he told Starbuck.

"Aye-aye, Major." 

Apollo settled in behind the laser turret controls. He hadn't used controls like this since his academy days. Normally, flying a viper, he'd become one with his ship's guns—aligning himself with the target. Now, he'd have to adjust to aiming at a target while his ship moved in a different direction. Luckily, Cylons were not the most innovative of evasive pilots.

One of the raiders broke formation, and made a run at the shuttle. While Starbuck was pulling every last bit of maneuverability out of the bulky shuttle, Apollo lined up with the Raider, and fired. The enemy ship exploded in red and green sparks, leaving its four companions to bear down on the shuttle.

"Yo, Apollo!" Starbuck called up.

"I'm a little busy now, Starbuck."

"Apollo! I'm getting a really strange reading…"

Apollo swiveled in his turret chair, trying to line up another shot. He rotated over the shuttle's port side, and saw something that made him drop his jaw…

Ivanova was already on the bridge when the alert came through. The _Warlock_ was moving slowly through hyperspace, trying to re-trace the alien ship's likely flight path when her tactical officer reported the weapons discharges occurring in normal space. 

"Captain, I'm reading multiple weapons discharges in normal space, 2,000 kilometers off our current bead," Lt. Rabin reported. 

"Anaylsis, Lieutenant?" Ivanova asked.

"Some of the discharges are consistent with scoring on the alien ship," Rabin replied.

"_Some_ of them?" Ivanova asked.

"Yes, Captain, some of them. I don't have any matches for the other discharges."

"Battle stations," Ivanova said. "Prepare to jump to normal space. Bring us out at 500 kilometers, and have two squadrons of starfuries standing by."

"Aye, Captain," Rabin said.

A jump point opened, and the ship moved into normal space.

And in front of the _Warlock_, five ships were duking it out. Four saucer-shaped fighters were circling around a largish, boxy-looking shuttle, shooting at it.

"Captain," Rabin said, "Energy weapons discharge from the fighters matches the scoring on the alien ship. Markings on the shuttle match markings on the alien ship. I am reading no life signs on the fighters, and two humans on the shuttle."

"Launch starfuries, and target those fighters. I'm going to have some questions for the people in that shuttle."

"Apollo—what the _frak_ is _that?_" Starbuck sounded a little panicked.

Trying to keep his own voice calm, Apollo replied, "I haven't any idea, Starbuck." In front of the shuttle, space had seemed to warp, and fold in on itself. A point formed, and that point twisted itself into a blue swirling cone. And out of that cone came a ship—about a third the size of a Battlestar. And out of that ship spat a screen of star-shaped fighters. The fighters—more maneuverable than vipers—quickly surrounded, and made short work of, the Cylon raiders. And then the comm came to life with a woman's voice.

"Attention unknown shuttle. This is Captain Susan Ivanova of the Earth Alliance destroyer _Warlock_. Please respond."

Apollo climbed down from the laser turret, and looked at Starbuck.

"Did she just say '_Earth_ Alliance'?" Starbuck asked. "And, by the way, the pilots in those ships read human."

"Now don't get your hopes up, Starbuck. If we're lucky, they found Boomer. That's all I'm hoping right now." Apollo sat at the controls and flipped the comm switch. "_Warlock_—this is Air Major Apollo of the Battlestar _Galactica_. We are engaged in a search-and-rescue mission. One of our pilots was lost—"

"We may be of some assistance there," the woman replied. "If you would like to stand down and be taken aboard our ship, we may be able to discuss this further."

"One moment, Captain," Apollo replied, and muted the comm. "What do you think?" he asked Starbuck.

"I think they'd have no trouble taking us by force," Starbuck said. "And they did take care of the Cylons for us. Plus, they might not be so eager to help if we put up a fight."

"I agree," Apollo said. He re-activated the comm. "Captain Ivanova, we are prepared to comply. I look forward to meeting you."

"Likewise, Major. The starfuries will escort you into the landing bay."

To be continued…


	2. Default Chapter Title

Babel Rebuilt Part II

Vir Cotto had wanted to be in the forward observation area to watch the ships pull in.

Technically, as the ambassador from the Centauri Republic, he was supposed to be waiting in the receiving line with all the other dignitaries. But he _had_ to _see_ this already-fabled ship, this "battlestar," come through the jump gate.

Apparently, this was a momentous occasion—especially for the humans. President Sheridan and Delenn and the ISA council were hosting a state dinner for these newcomers—even President Luchenko of the Earth Alliance had come. Just about every planetary leader.

Except Londo. And this was the sort of thing—an elaborate banquet—that, of his diplomatic duties, Londo had most enjoyed. _I wish he was here_, Vir thought. But Londo never left Centauri Prime, now that he was Emperor. He hardly even spoke to Vir, these days, either. And that thought reminded Vir there was a message from him that Vir hadn't opened yet—probably a generic greeting for the human newcomers. He should have retrieved it, but it came in as he was leaving for the observation area, and he really wanted to see the ships pull in.

And with that thought, right on schedule, the jump gate opened.

The size and grace of this new ship were immediately apparent. Flanked by two Earth Alliance destroyers, and escorted by a Minbari cruiser and two _White Stars_, the Battlestar _Galactica_ powered into normal space. The ship was colossal—dwarfing the Minbari cruiser—and it seemed like it could be almost the length of the station itself. Its brilliant white skin bristled with machinery and armament—and bore witness to a thousand painted-over battle scars.

The battlestar slowed as it pulled into a stationary relative position with the station. Shortly, a small shuttle was launched from one of the two landing bays, and headed for the station's main dock.

_That will be Commander Adama and his party_, Vir thought. _Now I _have_ to go, or I'll dishonor the Centauri Republic_. And with that, Vir left the room.

Vir almost didn't make it to the receiving line in time. He had to practically sneak into place between Ta'Lon and the Brakiri ambassador. Sheridan and Delenn were at the head of the line, followed by President Luchenko, then the ambassador from Mars, then Ta'Lon, then Vir, then the Brakiri, the Gaim, etc.

The elevator from the dock level came to a stop, and the doors opened. Inside was party of some 14 or so humans. At the head of the party was a tall, white-haired man dressed in blue, flanked by two other humans in brown uniforms. Behind them stood a group of what Vir would instinctively call "nobles." Vir didn't think that the humans had a noble class. But the way these humans carried themselves—a combination of unconfident arrogance and assumed privilege—reminded Vir of his own colleagues back home.

Captain Lochley stepped forward. "Mr. President, Madame President, honored guests, may I present Commander Adama of Caprica, President of the Colonial Council of Twelve, and the rest of the Council."

"Mr. President," Adama said, in untranslated, yet slightly accented, English. "It is difficult to express quite how momentous and historic an occasion this is.

"We had come in search of our brothers on Earth. Not just as refugees from our own tragedy, but as seekers after a long-last branch of our family.

"We had not expected to find such a collection of brethren as this. I am deeply moved by this gathering of human and non-human alike. Truly, we are all of us brothers and sisters."

President Sheridan stepped forward. "Commander. As President of the InterStellar Alliance, may I present to you: President Susanna Luchenko of the Earth Alliance, Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari Federation, Ambassador Ta'Lon of the Narn Regime, and Ambassador Vir Cotto of the Centauri Republic."

Commander Adama proceeded down the line, greeting each representative. He stopped at Vir, and turned to President Sheridan. "I am gratified to meet all of these honored leaders. But I am afraid that there is danger in addition to our joy, which I must discuss with all of you."

"Certainly, Commander," Delenn said. "We have all been briefed. I am certain that there will be more than sufficient time to discuss such matters, after the dinner."

"Yes, of course," Adama replied. "In the meantime, may I present the Council of the Twelve—the duly elected representatives of our people."

During the dessert course, one of Vir's aides approached.

"Ambassador. There is a message for you from the Emperor in your chambers."

"Yes, I know. I will open it after dinner."  
"No, Ambassador. There is another message. And the technician at the Palace was quite insistent that you open it as soon as possible."

Vir sighed, and stood. "Please express my apologies to _everyone_."

Vir scurried down the nearly deserted halls, muttering to himself. How _rude_ of Londo to insist that he read the message _now—_while dinner was still going on. Not rude to himself—Vir—bur rude to… Well, rude to the rest of the galaxy, really. He realized that Londo and the rest of the government had turned their focus inward. But still, the rest of the galaxy was out there. It was Vir's job to try to keep the rest of the galaxy at least not mad with the Centauri. And these frequent breeches of protocol did not make Vir's job any easier.

Vir finally came to the door to his quarters. He stopped, and waited a minute—to catch his breath. Then he opened the door—and gasped.

"The generosity of your InterStellar Alliance—and the Earth Alliance—has been beyond anything our people could have hoped for." Commander Adama stared out the window in John Sheridan's office, looking down the station's central axis.

Sheridan sat on the edge of his desk, a glass of a Colonial drink called ambrosia in his hand. It was clearly alcoholic, but like nothing Sheridan had ever had before. He watched the Commander watch the station. He noticed the tightness in the older man's shoulders, the sense that he carried far too much tension for someone who had just saved his people. And yet— And yet there was something somewhat familiar about how this Adama carried himself. A feeling—a sense in the air. Something that reminded him…

Something that reminded Sheridan of Jeffrey Sinclair. Even in the brief time they'd worked together—worked to push _Babylon 4_ into the distant past for ancient Minbari to use as a base in the _last_ war against the Shadows. 

Adama had that same aura about him—of someone resigned to a fate of carring a very great burden.

He glanced over at Delenn, sitting on the couch. Her return glance told him that she'd noticed it, too.

"Well, the InterStellar Alliance was formed to assist any race that wished to join it. We'd have given the same level of help, even if your people hadn't turned out to be human."

"It is a noble endeavor, this alliance of yours," Adama replied. "We had tried something similar in our own part of the galaxy—a thousand years ago."

"What happened a thousand years ago?" Delenn asked. 

Sheridan could hear apprehension in her voice. He could hear the question below the surface—was what happened at the other side of the galaxy connected to what had happened on _this_ side of the galaxy a thousand years ago—the last Shadow War.

Adama turned away from the window. "I'm afraid that what happened to us a thousand years ago is still going on. And it is the reason I'd asked to speak with you both privately after the reception."

"Please," Sheridan said.

"Our people have already explained how we became refugees—how we came to seek out our lost brothers on Earth—about how the Cylon Empire destroyed our colonies and forced us into space. What we haven't told you is that the Cylons have pursued us in our flight across the stars. Even now, there is almost certainly a Cylon task force, just beyond sensor range."

"I have spoken with Captain Ivanova," Sheridan said. "And I've read her report of the first contact incident. The ships she encountered firing on your vessel—those were the Cylons, were they not?"

Adama nodded. "They were."

"Well, we've already pledged to protect your people from further attack—that was understood at the outset."

"Yes, Mr. President," Adama said. "And that is what is extraordinarily generous of your Alliance. But what we haven't told you is that, for the Cylons, our war was no mere struggle over territory or resources or influence. It was a war of annihilation—of extermination. They will not stop until we are all dead."

Adama paused. "Until every _human_ is dead—including every human on Earth and every human in your Alliance."

"The Alliance will never allow that to happen," Delenn said.

Adama nodded wearily. "And I fear that this pledge will bring this burden down on _all_ of your Alliance races."

"I take it that there's more to this warning than the thing itself," Sheridan said. Everyone in the Alliance had known that there would be risk in implicitly allying with these refugees. The Advisory Council had voted, and the general membership had agreed.

"When I chose this direction for my people—to seek out our brothers on Earth, and to seek their help, I had thought that they—that you would remember us. That you would already see us as a single nation—and that the war declared on us had already been declared on you. I had not thought that you would be bereft of any memory of us. And I had not dreamed that our quest might implicate entirely separate and innocent races in our struggle. And I feel that my decisions have unfairly brought the burden of this war to people it was never meant to touch."

Delenn stood, and touched Adama on the arm. "Whenever Darkness spreads out arms, it will by nature contact and seek to oppose those who support the Light. If what you say is true, then the Cylon threat to the Alliance was inevitable."

"And now that you've brought this warning, and the intelligence of your war to us," Sheridan said, "we'll be better prepared than we might have been. And we have the opportunity to bring the war to _them_."

"You're planning to _strike_ at the Cylons?" Adama asked.

"I don't intend to wait for them to attack us," Sheridan said. "And, tactically, the first order of business is to make sure that that task force you've mentioned doesn't get back to its base with intelligence about this part of the Galaxy."

In Vir's quarters, calmly sitting on the sofa, sat a well-dressed human. Or at least, Vir thought he was well-dressed. He'd never actually seen clothing quite like this human was wearing. But it was very white, and looked quite expensive.

"Ambassador Cotto, you seem quite surprised," the human said. He spoke with an oily, insinuating voice. "Surely the Emperor told you to expect me?"

"Oh. Well. I… I, uh, there are some messages from the Emperor I haven't had the opportunity to review yet. You would be?"

The human rose, and extended a hand. "Iblis. I am called Count Iblis."

"I see," Vir said.

And then the Babcom sounded with an incoming message: "Message for Vir Cotto from Emperor Mollari."

Vir sighed. "Excuse me. Begin message."

Londo appeared, in full Imperial garb.

"Vir. Good. I see our guest is with you now."

"Londo—who _is _he?"

"He is a guest of the Centauri Republic. And as such, he will be accorded the proper treatment, yes?"

Vir walked closer to the Babcom panel, and leaned in. Whispering into the microphone, he said, "Londo—you remember what happened the _last_ time we entertained a guest like that."

"Vir. I'm surprised at you. Count Iblis is _not_ Mr. Morden. You should be ashamed of yourself. And besides, the Emperor does not need to explain his instructions to his Ambassador. He only needs to give them, yes? You will see the Count safely off the station, past customs, and on his way to Earth."

"To Earth?"  
"I have business with the President and Earthgov," Iblis said.

Startled, Vir jumped back, and grabbed at his hearts.

"I apologize, Ambassador. I should not have eavesdropped," Iblis said. 

Captain Susan Ivanova, commanding officer of the _EAS Warlock_, had suddenly found herself back on _Babylon 5_—months—if not years—earlier than she'd planned. And as if nothing had changed, she found herself playing tour guide—_tour guide—_to "foreign dignitaries."

It did help, however, that she _liked_ these particular dignitaries—and that they were soldiers, like herself.

She was walking through the Zocalo with several of the Colonial Warriors—Major Apollo and Captain Starbuck, from the shuttle her ship had rescued. And there was a Major Sheba, who also appeared to be Apollo's SO. And, accompanying Starbuck was a woman named Cassiopeia, who described herself as a "socialator."

"So what does a socialator do?" Ivanova had asked, innocently enough, she'd thought. "I don't think we have those in this part of the galaxy."

"Oh—I think I actually saw advertisements here on the station for socialators," Cassiopeia had replied. "Although I think the word that was used was 'escort.'"

"I see," Ivanova replied.

Sheba spoke up. "I understand that you used to serve under President Sheridan?"

"Twice, actually," Ivanova replied, feeling relieved. "Once, early in my career, at the transfer point off Io. And then, here on the station for three years."

"What did you do on the station?" Sheba asked.

"What didn't I do?" Ivanova replied. "Officially, I was the Executive Officer of the military garrison—the second-in-command. Unofficially, especially after we broke away from the Earth Alliance, I did whatever had to be done."

"Starbuck. You don't know where that's been." Apollo called out to his friend, who was sniffing cigars at one of the kiosks.

"Apollo—I have never sniffed anything like this. You've got to take a whiff."

"Those are genuine Havana Cuban cigars," Ivanova said. "Garibaldi made sure there were always some on the station somewhere."

"Apollo—this station has got to be the greatest place we've been since Carillon," Starbuck said. He rejoined the group, a bag full of recent purchases in hand. "That merchant told me that there's a _casino_ on the next level."

"Are you guys sure that the _Centauri_ aren't your missing colony?" Ivanova asked.

"What?" Apollo replied.

"Sorry. Bad joke." She sighed. "I suppose, if you've got to go there, you're better off in my company." And she took them to the casino.

Starbuck took it upon himself to learn a new game—Poker. "Virtually like Pyramid," he'd said. And so he sat at one of the gaming table, cheerfully puffing on a recently acquired Cuban, Cassiopeia hanging on his arm, bluffing outrageously against a table full of Narns and Drazi.

Ivanova, Sheba, and Apollo sat at the bar, watching.

"He's asking for trouble, you should know," Ivanova told them.

"Oh, of a certainty," Sheba said.

"He excels at seeking out trouble," Apollo said.

"I've heard a lot of the other Colonials talking about a Commander Caine," Ivanova asked Sheba. "Your father?"

Sheba nodded. "He is the greatest military commander we've ever known."

"People claim he's dead."

"He's not dead," Sheba said. "I refuse to believe he's dead unless I see a body."

Ivanova nodded. "I can sympathize with that. When the Captain—President Sheridan—was missing on Z'ha'dum, everyone claimed he was dead. Everyone was wrong."

Sheba smiled at Ivanova. "Thank you." She touched Ivanova's hand.

And Ivanova felt something at the touch—something more than the touch. A telepath? Certainly not a trained one—she didn't think that the Colonials had telepaths. Maybe just a latent telepath? She was about to ask when she felt something else—something very _dark_ cross her mind.

Sheba turned white as a Minbari headbone. Her jaw went slack. She turned to Apollo. "_He's here,_" she whispered.

And with that, one of the Drazi at the poker table stood up, knocked over the table, and charged Starbuck, causing the entire casino to erupt in riot.

In the aftermath of the fight in Downbelow, Michael Garibaldi felt compelled to review the securecam records of how it'd happened. Not that he doubted what Ivanova had told him. But he wanted to see these things with his _own_ eyes.

Zack was on duty in the station house, nursing the minor abrasions he'd earned stopping the fight, watching the securecam monitors. 

"Playing hooky, Michael?" Zack asked.

"Better believe it, Zack," Garibaldi replied. "I'd much rather wade through all the securecam records of the last two hours than sit in a state dinner."

"So that's why you're here," Zack said. "Not just for the company."

"I'm afraid not, Zack," Garibaldi said.

"Where do you want to start?"

"Let's start with anything unusual," Garibaldi said. "Unidentified persons, people being where they're not supposed to be… you know, the usual."

Zack pulled up the log records for the prior two hours. "That's strange," he said.

"What's strange?"

"The door to Vir's apartment opened and closed itself, just before the riot started."

"Can you pull up the securecam from the corridor outside his apartment?"

"Yeah—sure." Zack entered the commands, and pulled up the record. He started the playback from two minutes before the door access. A few humans and aliens walked up and down the corridor. And then the traffic dwindled to nothing. And from the empty corridor, the apartment door opened, and then closed.

"See? Nothing," Zack said.

"Yeah. But it's never nothing," Garibaldi said. "I thought I saw _something_ out of the corner of my eye. And the timing with the riot is making my skin crawl. Let's try something. Can you bring up the filter settings that let us see the Shadows?"

"You don't think—"

"No, not Shadows, Zack. But something."

Zack accessed the records, applied the filter, and re-played the record. This time, the vague image of a man-sized blur stopped at Vir's door, tapped at the keypad, and entered the apartment.

"Wait," Zack said, "I think I can refine it." A few more key strokes, and a very clear image of an elaborately-dressed man appeared. "I don't have another record of this man in the station records."

"Obviously not, if he's been walking around invisible. Let's see what Ambassador Cotto has to say."

"You think it's right for Station Security to start bugging the ambassadors?"

"No. But I think it's perfectly OK for a personal friend like me to find out why the Ambassador left the banquet like a bat out of hell…" Garibaldi opened a BabCom channel, and called Vir.

"Mr. Garibaldi," Vir said. "Good to see you. Sorry I missed you at the banquet."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too, Vir," Garibaldi said. "I'd wanted to chat—see how you've been doing—but you took off too fast."

"Ye—yes, I'm sorry about that. I hope no one else noticed."

"I think they're a little preoccupied with other things. Speaking of which, you seem a little preoccupied. I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I'd hate to think I was calling if you had… _company_."

Vir blushed. "Mr. Garibaldi, I don't—"

"It's OK Vir. Maybe we'll catch up next time I'm on B5."

"Yes, perhaps. I've got to go now. Thanks for calling." And Vir terminated the connection.

"Now that's interesting," Garibaldi said. "IF it was official business on the up-and-up, he'd have admitted it outright."

"So what do you want to do about it?" Zack asked.

"We tell the President," Garibaldi said.

To be continued…


	3. Default Chapter Title

Imperious Leader thought.

He sat—motionless—at the top of a pedestal in the center of a basestar, in the center of a task force. A task force as far removed from the center of Cylon civilization as any had ever been. And as far removed from the center of the Empire as any Imperious Leader had ever been.

These facts occasionally puzzled Imperious Leader.

He'd been born one of the very small number of original, organic Cylons still left. In an empire of 300 billion, there existed perhaps 10,000 real Cylons—bipedal, sentient lizards.

Imperious Leader didn't remember much of his life before his promotion. There was a clear line of demarcation in his mind—the day he was fitted with the cybernetic implants and computer connections upon his elevation, and everything before. Once he became Imperious Leader—once he became truly _aware_, everything before that became a dull gray blur.

With his implants, Imperious Leader had access to the memories of all the previous Imperious Leaders before him. And he had access to all of the intelligence and data collected by his task force. And when he was in the Empire proper, he'd have nearly instantaneous access to almost all information in the Empire.

And accessing those memories, Imperious Leader knew that he was the third to chase this itinerant human fleet. The first Imperious Leader was the one who had made a deal with a human called Baltar, and had presided over the destruction of almost all of the human military and Colonies. That Imperious Leader had decreed that Baltar was to die. But he himself perished in the battle of Carillon before that could be carried out.

The second Imperious Leader, promoted that day, had decided that Baltar, alone would not be a threat to the Empire. 

Humans in general didn't so much represent a threat to the Empire in themselves, but in what they could represent. They often served as a rallying point for other races—they seemed to be a catalyst for the creation of alliances and communities. And alliances which tended to directly oppose the interests of the Cylon Empire. 

Baltar, however, as an individual, posed no such threat. A man who would betray his entire race—not just one part of it—not just to gain power—obviously would not attract anti-Cylon allies. There was the threat that a Baltar offspring might not share its father's characteristics. But by integrating Baltar into the Cylon power structure, that Imperious Leader had reasoned, he could entirely eliminate Baltar's access to females. And so he had installed Baltar as the commander of a task force sent to track down and eliminate the remaining humans.

This had been a decision which had cost Imperious Leader his life at the fall of Gamoray. Neither Imperious Leader nor Baltar had remembered to take account of the still-missing Commander Cain and his Battlestar _Pegasus_.

And on the occasion of the death of that Imperious Leader, the current Imperious Leader was installed. And he had decided that, if the humans were to be pursued and destroyed, that it should be done correctly. And that often, to do something correctly, one must do it oneself. And so he left the Empire in the care of two IL-series androids—Lucifer and Spectre.

And so, here Imperious Leader sat, on a pedestal on a ship in an uncharted section of the galaxy.

A part of the galaxy, by all reports, practically crawling with humans and their allies. 

_An excellent opportunity to eliminate them all_, Imperious Leader thought, with one part of his brain. The _Galactica_ and her fleet had led them to the remaining human stronghold—their mythical planet Earth—giving Imperious Leader the opportunity to wipe them out forever.

_But they are hundreds of light years from Cylon, and the resources could be better used to improve conditions for the organic civilians_, he thought, with another part of his brain. 

And as he completed that thought, he felt a twinge in his abdomen. _If we let them breed, they'll come back_. And the thought of 10 or 20 billion humans returning to their ancestral homes nearly paralyzed Imperious Leader with fear. 

**_The humans are the most lethal threat faced by the Empire_, **he thought. _They must be stopped. They will be stopped. By me_.

And as he thought that, the fear that had gripped his belly loosed and fell away.

Imperious Leader took a deep breath. And then he reached out for intelligence from the sensor net. He could detect unidentified ships skirting the task force perimeter. Almost like creatures pressed up against a window, trying to get a look inside. They would be coming soon, Imperious Leader thought. And he intended to surprise them all by being ready for them.

* * *

"But how can that be?" John Sheridan wondered aloud.

He stared at the image on the monitor—a freeze-frame of Vir's mysterious visitor.

The others said they saw a man—a human—on the screen. But Sheridan saw something else.

"_It's easy to find something to die for. Do you have anything worth living for?_"

_He'd thrown himself off the ledge just instants before the detonation—a gigaton of nuclear explosives that he brought down on the Shadows' capital city. He'd fallen—and had been caught by Lorien. The last _first _First One—the last of his kind. Lorien had helped them all—he'd helped Sheridan by bringing him back from the dead. And he'd helped everyone else by pointing the way out of the Shadow/Vorlon war cycle._

And there, on the screen—to Sheridan's eyes, at least—was another of Lorien's kind.

"We know that Vorlons—even without their encounter suits—can manipulate how people see them," Susan said. "Maybe John's experience with Lorien's made him immune to it."

Gathered in Sheridan's office was a motley, ad hoc group of people Sheridan had felt to be relevant to this discovery. Delenn sat on the couch, Susan stood by the door, and Garibaldi sat on Sheridan's desk, with Captain Lochley standing next to him. Commander Adama and Major Sheba stood near the BabCom display, staring at the image. Sheba looked distinctly disturbed.

Sheridan had included the Colonials at Ivanova's request. Ivanova—a latent telepath—claimed to have sensed something that she thought might be related to this unidentified stranger. She claimed that Sheba had sensed the same thing. Upon viewing the SecureCam footage, both Colonials seemed to freeze.

"He _is_ here," Sheba said. "He's followed us all this way."

"You know this individual then?" Lochley asked.

"We encountered him early in our journey," Adama said. "He promised to deliver us from the Cylons—he promised to deliver us to sanctuary. He promised us everything we could possibly want. At the price of our souls."

"You're speaking metaphorically, right?" Garibaldi asked.

"No," Sheba replied.

"What's his name?" Sheridan asked.

"In our mythology, he has many names," Adama replied. "He introduced himself as Iblis. But he is also known as Satnus and Diabolis."

"I wouldn't take that literally," Sheridan said. "Obviously he's some sort of First One—possibly from Lorien's race. And we know how encounters with First Ones have found their way into mythology—the Vorlons as angels; the last Shadow War forming the basis of G'Quanish religion on Narn. No. I'd suggest we treat our invisible guest the way we'd treat any suspicious visitor."

"In that case," Garibaldi said, "how do you feel about him being headed straight for Earth? Vir's arranged for a ticket to Earth and diplomatic clearance through customs—not for himself."

"What would you suggest?" Sheridan asked Garibaldi.

Garibaldi glanced at the image on the screen. "Frag him. Frag him now while he doesn't know we know about him and we've still got the chance. Assuming we _can_."

"Michael!" Sheridan said.

"Look, John, remember what happened the last time First Ones with bad intent hooked up with EarthGov? We're still recovering from the civil war, and I don't think another one would be a good idea. And who says he has to stop with the government? What happens if, God forbid, he hooks up with the Psi Corps?"

"He does have a point, John," Ivanova said.

"We can't detain him or arrest him—he's done nothing here for which we can charge him," Sheridan said. "But if the Colonials have evidence that he poses a bona fide danger to Earth, we can bring the details to President Luchenko, who can decide to bar him from the Alliance."

"You might want to include a representative from MarsGov in on that," Garibaldi said. "You can bar him from Alliance space, but he could still go to Mars and hook up with the Corps."

Sheridan nodded. "I'll make the calls."

* * *

He could feel it. They knew he was here. The Colonials—and now, the others. He knew it because these other humans had telepaths among them—undoubtedly the work of Vorlons. Iblis smiled to himself. At least the Vorlons from _his_ part of the galaxy had refused to interfere in the genetics of younger races. Which was exactly _why_ they'd left this part of the galaxy.

But Iblis could pick up on the stray thoughts of some of the human telepaths—even ones who didn't know their own power. And the thoughts of one told him that he would not be welcome on Earth or on Mars, if he came in through the front door. He would have to find—or create—another way to reach the contacts his Drakh allies had arranged for him.

He could not leave through the front door. But perhaps a back door… Perhaps a distraction on the station would give him the opportunity he needed. And he had still the power to create distractions.

Iblis closed his eyes, and concentrated. He'd been pursued enough by the breakaway Vorlons and their ships of lights enough to know how to recreate the illusion of a raid. Observers at the windows would see the ships, but they wouldn't show up on any instruments. That, Iblis thought, should throw the authorities into sufficient confusion.

Iblis opened his eyes. And within minutes, alarm claxons were blaring all over the station. He smiled to himself, and quietly made his way toward the ship that the Centauri had arranged for him.

The station was in an uproar. Both crew and civilians dashed about on errands of urgency. It was laughably easy to pass unnoticed and unmolested. Particularly easy, since Iblis had rendered himself invisible to most eyes to begin with.

But apparently not to _all_ eyes, Iblis thought. Blocking the passageway to the landing bay that held his ship stood a human—the man named Sheridan—who was looking straight at him.

But was he _entirely_ human? Iblis stopped, and peered at this man. Around him was a glow—a familiar glow. Almost as if…

* * *

__

Lorien had confronted him on the surface of Z'ha'dum, just as the Shadows were preparing to evacuate.

The Shadows had been loyal servants, and they had fought valiantly. But the other races—including those upstart Vorlons—had driven Iblis' mighty legions back to Z'ha'dum. And they were preparing an invasion. The Shadows were preparing to cede the battle to the alliance, and they were executing their plans to protect their assets for the next war.

"You and your allies have won this battle," Iblis had said to Lorien. "But this is not the end."

"It is the end of this piece," Lorien replied. "The older races—most of them, at least—are leaving for beyond the Rim. I strongly suggest you go with them."

"I will no," Iblis replied.

"Your influence here is finished," Lorien said. "I have seen to it. And I will continue to see to it."

"You will really wait here?"

"Through the ages, if necessary," Lorien replied.

Iblis grinned a self-satisfied grin. "All for me, brother?"

"Not all for you. I will await the one who will come to find me."

"You have been spending far too much time with the Vorlons."

Lorien shook his head. "I wait here to stop the Vorlons as much as to stop you. As much as to stop the Shadows." Lorien explained: "There will come a time when the infant races will reach adulthood—signaled by their ability to send someone here to find me."

Iblis shook his head. "These younger races—all of them—are our natural servants. After 100 million years, can you not see that? Our power is greater—"

"Those who have power are required to use it in responsible service," Lorien said. "After 100 million years, can you not see that?"

"You have enslaved yourself to the interests of those not worthy even to look upon you," Iblis said. "You are a disgrace."

"Perhaps in your eyes," Lorien said. "In any case, you are not welcome on Z'ha'dum. And likely not many other places in this part of the galaxy. I would again suggest you think about going with the others."

"I will yield this point to you. I will leave this part of the galaxy. But I will not go with the others."

"As you wish. You may go anywhere except those places you are not welcome. I will not stop you."

"How magnanimous of you, dear brother," Iblis said. "I will go. And we will meet again."

* * *

Almost as if _Lorien _was standing in the same place as the human. Or as if this human contained some of Lorien's life-energy.

And if Lorien had left a portion of himself with this human, that would explain a great many things. And Iblis knew that no quantity of distractions or tricks would get him past this man.

Iblis stared at Sheridan for a long moment. Then he moved to the BabCom console, and asked it to contact Vir Cotto. In a moment, the Centauri ambassador's face appeared on the screen.

"Ambassador Cotto," Iblis said, glancing at Sheridan. "I'm afraid I may need to alter my travel plans."  
"I've just got a message from Captain Lochley," Vir stammered. "They've revoked your clearance for Mars."  
"I know, Ambassador," Iblis said, soothingly. "I would like, instead to return to Centauri Prime."

"That's the other message, Mr.—Count—Iblis," Vir said. "I've just received a message from Emperor Mollari himself, barring your re-entry anywhere in Centauri space."

_So the Drakh have turned on me, as well_, Iblis thought. _No wonder the Shadows lost. At least there remain _some_ loyal allies_. He was aware of the small Cylon task force near the edge of Alliance space.

"That is quite all right, Ambassador," Iblis said. "I have yet a third destination in mind. Thank you for your help. And please thank Emperor Mollari for his hospitality." Iblis closed the connection.

He turned to Sheridan. "Mr. President. I have an appointment to keep. Unless you intend to detain me?"

Sheridan nodded. "You may go anywhere except those places you are not welcome. Neither the Alliance nor Mars nor EarthGov will stop you."

"How magnanimous of you," Iblis replied, smiling slightly. He walked near to Sheridan, and whispered: "And next time you see my brother, give my regards."

Iblis walked past him, into the bay, and onto his ship. 

To be continued…


	4. Default Chapter Title

Babel Rebuilt Part IV

Captain Susan Ivanova stood at the front of the deserted C-and-C Observation Dome on _Babylon 5,_ staring out the window. She'd been waiting for this—ever since she'd come on board. The one block of twenty minutes in the day when the Dome would be deserted. It still had the best outside view on the station.

So she stood, watching the stars and ships circle around. For about half of each revolution, she could see the forward part of the _Battlestar Galactica_. She still felt overwhelmed by the ship's size. Her own ship, the advanced destroyer _Warlock_, hung in space next to it. The _Warlock_ was a next-generation destroyer, incorporating technologies Earth Force had gotten from the ISA—like artificial gravity. It was no _White Star_, but it was the single most powerful ship of the Earth Force line.

And next to the _Galactica_, it looked like little more than a shuttle.

"I said, excuse me, Captain?" A female voice—a vaguely familiar female voice—at Ivanova's right ear. She turned, and found Captain Lochley standing next to her.

"Oh, Captain," Ivanova said. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I was a little… distracted."

"The view can do that to you," Lochley replied. "Although usually there's so much going on here that you don't notice the view."

"I used to come up here at this time all the time," Ivanova said.

"And you're welcome to whenever you're on board," Lochley replied. "But next time, would you mind clearing it with station security? Zack dragged me out of bed with an unauthorized entry alert."

Ivanova blushed. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said. "I didn't think. I was just so used to—"

"I understand." 

They stood there, next to each other, for several silent moments. A selection of questions—not all of them related to the Colonials or the upcoming attack—crossed Ivanova's mind. She could see Lochley watching her from the corner of her eye. Ivanova had first met Lochley when Ivanova had been stationed at the transfer point off of Io. John Sheridan had been her commanding officer. And Lochley had been, briefly, John's wife. Although they were in the middle of their amicable divorce at the time.

"I have to admit, it's a little strange to see you under these circumstances," Ivanova said. "I never would have thought John would have picked you to take over this place."

"And why is that?"

"Well… I imagine that things might be a little… awkward. With you and John, and with Delenn. And with the crew—"

"The crew—for the most part—doesn't know," Lochley said. "Including you, there are exactly five people on board who know: you, John, Delenn, Mr. Garibaldi, and myself. John, you, and I were there at the time. And John obviously had to tell Delenn."

"Obviously." Ivanova could almost imagine Delenn's reaction. "So who told Mr. Garibaldi?"

"I did. Right after he'd told me he'd been through my service record."

"That's Garibaldi for you."

"Not for me," Lochley said. "You can have him. He's been a pain in my butt since I got here." She paused. "Sheridan told me he's put you in charge of the assault on the Cylon task force."

Ivanova nodded. "He felt it best that a human be in charge. Even though most of the force will be Rangers and Minbari. Plus _that_ giant—" she pointed at the _Galactica_—"once they finish installing the temporary jump engines."

* * *

Apollo sat in the astrogator's chair, high over the _Galactica_'s superstructure, aware that this might be the last time he'd have this chance. 

He could see the planet—Epsilon Iridani—and _Babylon 5_ hanging like a toy beneath it. He could just about make out some of the other capital ships that had gathered for the assault on the Cylons.

And he could see the Earth Force shuttles coming and going from the _Galactica_'s two main landing bays—bringing supplies and parts for the "upgrade." 

Sheba touched his arm. "When you said you wanted to be alone, I thought you meant you wanted to be alone _with me_."

He looked at her. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little distracted."

"Not about the attack," she said.

He smiled to himself. He and Sheba had been through too many missions together that had been far more dangerous than this one was going to be. He recalled their first mission together—a near-suicidal ground assault on a full-scale Cylon outer capital. They had been ludicrously outnumbered and outgunned. Yet they had prevailed. This time, humans (and their allies) would have the overwhelming advantage.

And that was what disturbed Apollo.

"The engineers tell me that this bubble won't survive the stresses of hyperspace," he said. "They're going to dismantle it before we leave."

"And that's what's bothering you?" she asked.

"It's part of it," he replied. "But it's everything. The _Galactica_ is crawling with Alliance engineers—modifying her—installing those 'jump engines,' the reactors to power them, new navigation computers—I wonder how much of the actual _Galactica_ will be left when they're done."

"The important parts," Sheba said. She laid her head on Apollo's shoulder. "But what's happening to the _Galactica_ isn't what's bothering you, either. It's what's going to happen to our people."

Apollo took her hand. "The Alliance has offered us a planet to settle on—as independent members of the Alliance. Earth offered immigration, as did Mars. And I'm afraid that too many of our people will find it easier to immigrate to an established world."

"Why afraid?"

"We've come too far and risked too much to be swallowed up now," he said. "Did you know that Boxey told me that he wants to leave Warrior training, so that he can join the Rangers?"

"Nothing. But… I'm a Warrior. My father is a Warrior. _His_ father was a Warrior—"

"And the Rangers have promised to send an expedition to look for _my_ father," Sheba said. 

"I don't mean to be negative about the Rangers, or about the Alliance, or about Earth," Apollo said. "But we're several thousand survivors, about to be swallowed by an Alliance of several hundred billion."

"We won't be swallowed," Sheba said. "If we were, Sheridan wouldn't have been so insistent that the _Galactica_ join in this attack."

Apollo sighed. "I hope you're right."

They sat together for a few moments, watching the shuttles come and go. One ship—with fins shaped like crescent moons—streaked past, activated the jump gate, and headed into hyperspace.

"How long before they tear this place down?" Sheba asked.

"Tomorrow," Apollo replied.

"That's a little time, at least," she said, and kissed him.

* * *

"Living in the limelight

The universal dream

For those who wish to seem.

Those who wish to be

Must put aside the alienation

Get on with the fascination

The real relation, the underlying theme—"

Vir Cotto was singing—along to a recording of a three-hundred-year-old Earth song. And making movements as though he was playing one of their loud instruments, like he'd seen in the video record. 

And he was doing this when the Emperor himself walked in on him.

Vir had been admiring himself in the mirror, and had seen Londo's reflection as he, unannounced and attended only be a telepath, entered Vir's palace quarters. He nearly tripped over himself turning off the music.

"Vir—what is it that you are doing?" Londo asked.

"I was listening to a song—an old Earth song. I was"

$#9;"And where did you get this song, hmmm?#" Londo asked.

"Oh, from Lennier. Well, not directly from Lennier. You see, Lennier first got a copy of it from Zack Allen, who wanted to learn more about Minbari culture, so he gave Lennier some old Earth music. And then Lennier—"

Londo made a small wave with one hand, indicating to Vir to be quiet. He leaned on the door post with the other. "Please, help me to the chair," he said to the telepath.

Vir rushed forward, and guided Londo to a chair. "Londo—you're drunk."

"Yes—quite," Londo replied. "I could not see you otherwise."

"Londo—what are you talking about? You're the Emperor. You can see whoever you want whenever you want. You even called me all the way back home from _Babylon 5…_"

Londo waved his hand again. Vir stopped talking.

"I only have a few minutes before the alcohol wears off, so we must speak quickly, yes?" He indicated the telepath. "This is Linarri, one of the telepaths who attend me. You are to take her, and find G'kar. And you must do it quickly."

"But, Londo—I don't understand…"

"Linnari will explain when you are en route. Now, you must go quickly. Or you will not be able to go at all."

"Does this have anything to do with that Count Iblis character?" Vir asked. "Because you know, he gave me a very bad feeling from the first time I saw him. Well, the first time he'd broken into my quarters, which isn't conducive to a _good_ feeling. But still, there is something about him that's not right—"

Londo waved his hand. "Vir. We can discuss this another time. But now, you_ must_ go. Quickly."

Linnari touched Vir's arm, and looked into his eyes. Vir saw something—a telepathic communication? That was earnest. He nodded, and stood to leave.

"I'll contact you when I've found G'kar—" 

"Tell no one," Londo cut him off. "And do not contact me, at all, until this is over. Or better yet, I will contact you when it is safe, yes? Now go."

Vir looked again at Linnari, nodded at Londo, and left.

To Be Continued…


	5. Default Chapter Title

Babel Part V

Captain Starbuck literally twiddled his thumbs.

He sat in the cockpit of his viper, staring out the landing bay of one of the Earth Force destroyers, watching hyperspace stream before him.

Captain Ivanova—who was commanding the attack—had ordered most of the _Galactica's_ vipers transferred to the Earth ships before they all jumped into hyperspace. Starbuck knew that most of Blue Squadron was arrayed, next to Earth starfuries, on the deck next to him. And he knew that they were soon going to engage the Cylons. And although he was somewhat curious about the shape of the grand plan, he didn't feel he needed to know it. The launch order would come, and there would be enemy ships, and he would shoot them down.

He was frankly more concerned about not accidentally shooting at his new allies than he was with what the big wigs were cooking up.

Captain Susan Ivanova paced across the bridge of the _EAS Warlock_. Almost there, she thought. Time to unseal the orders.

She nodded at her communications officer to open the links to the other ship commanders.

The total force, in addition to the _Warlock_ and the _Galactica_, consisted of two other Earth Force destroyers and fighter compliment, three Minbari cruisers and fighter compliment, and a squadron of _White Stars_. 

Soon, the images of Commander Adama, the two human captains, the three Minbari commanders, and the Ranger in command of the _White Star_ squadron were floating in front of her.

"As you're all aware, we're coming up on the first navigational point." She heard her voice, faintly fed back, through her audience's comm systems. She thought she sounded 1000 times more confident than she felt. And she wondered: Does John every feel this way? When he's giving orders to Minbari Rangers twice his age, for example?

Knowing John, she thought, he'd probably tell her that, yes, he had felt this way—the first few times. Then, with practice, he got used to it.

She sucked in her breath. "So. Let's go over the mission strategy."

"The strategy is simple," one of the Minbari captains—clearly wearing the garb of the Warrior Caste—said. "We shall attack. We shall destroy. And we shall return. And you shall give the word as to when to begin."

"Well, yes…" Ivanova said. "But there are a few details—"

The Warrior Caste made a theatrically impatient face.

"What details, Captain?" Commander Adama asked.

"I'm so glad you asked, Commander," she replied. "If you would all check the strategic charts you've been given, you'll notice our location, relative to the location of the Cylon task force.

"That third group of ships, which you were no doubt wondering about, are decoys—drawn from the old Colonial fleet. They've been evacuated and set on autopilot.

"The basic plan is simple. The _Galactica_ will jump out of hyperspace here," she indicated a location on the chart, "and will rendezvous with the decoys. She will lead them to _here_," indicating another spot on the chart, "which is well within the task force's scanning range. If they Cylons follow what we've been told is their pattern, they will launch almost all, if not all, of their fighter craft to engage our decoys.

"Task Group A, which consists of the _Warlock_, the _Schwarzkopf_, and the _Nimitz_, will jump to normal space, and engage the Cylon craft.

"Simultaneously, Task Group B, which consists of the _White Star_ squadron and the three Minbari cruisers will proceed to this point," indicating yet another location, "jump to normal space, and engage the basestars."

The Ranger nodded. "I suggest that we take them in two waves," he said. "First, the cruisers should create a perimeter while we defang the baseships. When that's done, we'll switch—the _White Stars_ will withdraw to the perimeter, and the cruisers can finish of the capital ships."

The two other Minbari commanders looked to Warrior Caste, who nodded. "No doubt, we shall be finished with the capital ships before you are finished with their fighters. We will be happy to come to your assistance."

One of the Earth Force officers looked at Warrior Caste. "Thanks. But I think we'll be able to handle this on our own."

"Yes," Warrior Caste said, "Just like you handled us at—what is it you call it—the Battle of the Line…"

Judging by the looks on their faces, if they'd been in the same room, Ivanova thought, there'd already be blood on the floor.

"All right!" she said. "That's enough. You have your orders. _Galactica_ will pull out to join the decoys immediately. And the rest of you will maintain communications silence until the enemy is engaged, or until you hear from me. Dismissed."

The constant buzz in Imperious Leader's head had gotten louder, when the stranger, Iblis, was brought on board.

Imperious Leader had never seen him before, and yet he seemed intimately familiar. He looked like a human, but he was not human. His presence made Imperious Leader simultaneously uncomfortable and at ease. Almost as if he were watching himself from within.

A centurion walked into the throne room. "By your command."

"Speak, centurion," Imperious Leader replied.

"The _Galactica _and her fleet have been spotted. They will be within striking range in centons."

"Prepare a strike force. We shall launch as soon as the ships are ready," Imperious Leader orderd.

"No," the stranger said. 

Iblis had taken up residence in the throne room. The thought had made Imperious Leader uncomfortable, but he'd been strangely powerless to issue orders to do anything about it.

"It's a trap," Iblis said. "They mean to draw off our fighters, and then to attack us."

"There is but one warship—the _Galactica_," the Centurion said. "When that is destroyed, they will be unable to attack us."

"But there are more," Iblis said. "The _Galactica_ has already made contact with the inhabitants of this part of the galaxy, and have enlisted allies. It is _they_ who lie in wait to destroy us. Our best hope is to escape—back to Cylon. And to return with a sufficiently larger force."

The stranger's words went against all of Imperious Leader's experience, and against the knowledge implanted in his extra brains, and against the momentum of the fleet's centurions.

And somehow, they seemed right. With hardly thinking about it, Imperious Leader ordered, "Plot a course for Cylon. Maximum speed."

Iblis smiled.

Commander Adama sat on the bridge of the _Galactica_, and rubbed his chin. "Range?" he asked.

"Twelve Sectares and closing," Colonel Tigh replied. "We're well within their scanning range. They know we're here, and they know we know they know."

"This doesn't feel right, Tigh," Adama said. 

"Perhaps you should contact Captain Ivanova," Tigh said.

Adama shook his head. "We are under strict communications silence. I will not break it because the Cylons aren't keeping to our schedule."

"Colonel Tigh!" Omega, the bridge scanning officer, called. "The Cylons are pulling out. They're _running_."

"Commander?" Tigh asked.

"I can only conclude, Captain, that the Cylons are aware of our plans," Adama said. 

Ivanova nodded. She'd realized that the situation must have been serious if Adama was willing to break the communications blackout. But she hadn't suspected this.

"Captain, at their rate of speed, even traveling in hyperspace, the targets will be out of range of both task groups within 40 minutes," Ivanova's navigation officer reported.

Ivanova nodded. She knew that Task Group A was in a better position to cut of the retreating Cylons, but that three Earth Force destroyers might not be a complete match for three Cylon basestars, according to the intelligence provided by the Colonials. 

Maybe not enough to stop them, she thought. But maybe enough to slow them down long enough for Task Group B to catch up.

"Commander, I think you should rejoin us in hyperspace. I will be in touch with you shortly with more details."

Adama'image faded.

"_Galactica_ jumping back to hyperspace," the conn reported.

Ivanova nodded. "And get my President Sheridan on _Babylon 5_."

"Absolutely not," Sheridan said.

He and Delenn had taken Ivanova's communication in his office. "They don't have hyperspace technology. We can track them, re-group, and catch up with them later."

"They may not have hyperspace, John," Ivanova said, "but they're rapidly approaching the last beacon's outer limit. We don't have beacons out this far. And in normal space, they'll have an insurmountable lead."

"You've only got three destroyers. Those basestars are supposed to be closer to Minbari cruisers. You'll get crushed."

"We don't have to beat them," Ivanova said, "We just have to slow them down—to give the Minbari cruisers and the _White Stars_ a chance to catch up."

Sheridan had to admit that he liked _those_ odds better than three Earth Alliance destroyers and an aging Battlestar.

"John," Delenn said. "You have said the most important thing is that these ships not escape to warn their bases. If they do escape, what terror will they rain down on us? Susan's plan is the only way."

Sheridan looked at Delenn, then back at Ivanova's image, and nodded.

To be concluded…


	6. Default Chapter Title

_"Perhaps we'll find something extraordinary. Or perhaps something extraordinary will find us."_   
_ —G'kar to Lyta Alexander, at the start of their journey._

Lyta was still experimenting. Ever since Byron, she'd been testing her limits, pushing to see how much she could do—how far she could go. And she'd found that, with each new challenge, she could push _further_ than she had before. (Sometimes she even wondered how "vorlonized" she'd been—if some day, she'd discover that she could turn herself into a ball of light and float off at will…)   
And on this day, as the ship she shared with G'kar hovered in hyperspace, she was trying to follow the real-time progress of Ivanova's attack on the Cylon task force. She could sense the thoughts of the thousands of human and Minbari soldiers. And, while she couldn't pick anything up from the robots, she could track their movements by the thoughts of the humans and Minbari. It was like listening to a giant radio control center—messages would flow in, and actions would flow back out again.   
The battle wasn't going particularly well for the Alliance. They Cylons had apparently done something unexpected, and Susan had had to attack without all of her pieces in place. Only a portion of her fleet was engaging the enemy—the rest would arrive soon—but possibly, not soon enough.   
And _this_ she could pick up, quite strongly. Like a sharp pebble in her shoe—Susan's determination _not_ to fail in this mission. Even if it cost the lives of her entire force. _Good for you, Susan_, Lyta thought.   
She let her mind drift further, across the field of battle. _I wonder if I can learn to pick up on the Cylons_, she thought, _If I push hard enough_. She took a breath, and focused.   
Nothing.   
She took another, deep breath, and _pushed_.   
And there—at the center of their fleet—two dark voids—darker than the absence of minds. One was weak—barely their. But the other—the other was _trying_ to hide itself. And it hid enormous power, Lyta thought. Possibly greater than her own.   
That in itself intrigued her. The only thing she could imagine it being was a First One.   
She focussed harder. They were like a binary star, these two spots, she thought. The weaker one was definitely being controlled by the First One—she could begin to see the lines of force connecting the two.   
_ I wonder what would happen…_ And before she finished the thought, she'd "stepped between" the master and vassal.

* * *

And in a soundless instant, the "ice" around Imperious Leader shattered and fell away. In the imperceptible space between the moments, everything had changed. On one side of this divide, he was Imperious Leader, sitting atop his throne on the control center of the lead baseship, focussed on nothing but the extermination of humanoids.   
And on the other side, he was once more J'Orar, of the clan Malcha of Cylon—as he had been before the procedure that had made him Imperious Leader.   
And although he knew that he was still sitting on top of his throne on the baseship, the control room was not what faced him now. Instead of gold centurions and IL androids scurrying on their duties, he saw, in a black void, a noble reptilian Cylon facing a humanoid woman—the woman standing between himself and the other Cylon.   
The Cylon spoke—in a voice that J'Orar recognized as his own—or at least, the one he'd been given when he became Imperious Leader. They Cylon said: "You haven't the slightest idea what you've stepped in, Lyta Alexander. If you value your life, you would leave, now."   
The woman transfixed the Cylon with her gaze—her eyes beaming with the brightest of white light. "I've heard that before," she said. "From the Psi Corps. From the Alliance. I do not choose to recognize those boundaries."   
"You have come between me and one who belongs to me," the Cylon said. "Out of respect for what the Vorlons put you through, I offer you another chance to withdraw. Otherwise, I will have no choice but to destroy you."   
"If you can," the woman replied. "You want me to think you know who I am because you've penetrated my defenses. When, in reality, you've reached into the minds of the humans in the attacking fleet."   
The Cylon stared at her silently. The woman continued. "Yes, I can feel you reaching around me, to the minds in the fleet. And I can feel the strangle hold you have on this individual. And I very much don't like it. It—and your attitude—remind me far too much of the Psi Corps. Which is why I choose to step between you."   
"Lyta," the Cylon said. "I understand your anger with your Psi Corps. But this is an internal matter between myself and my allies. They had pledged themselves unconditionally to me over 1,000 years ago. As much as I respect your strength, Lyta, this isn't your business."   
"I've made it my business," Lyta replied. "See, most volunteers don't need to be held in chains. I get the feeling that he had about the same level of choice I had in joining the Corps."   
"Are there not members of your Psi Corps who consider it to be their mother and father?" the Cylon asked. "Would you question the _sincerity_ of their choice, whether you agree with it or not?"   
"Fine," Lyta said. "If he's here voluntarily, I'll leave. But if not…" And then she turned, and fixed J'Orar with the gleaming white eyes. And in that instant, everything changed again. The other Cylon wasn't anymore a Cylon, but something else—a glowing goat-like figure.   
And J'Orar felt fully like _himself_ again, for the first time since becoming Imperious Leader. In fact, his entire tenure as Imperious Leader seemed a haze—as though he'd been watching someone else's actions.   
Except that he was still tied into his baseship's information net. And that information net gave him information he'd never paid attention to before—information he hadn't been _allowed_ to pay attention to.   
He saw, in a brief instant, the history of Cylon over the previous 1,000 yahren. He saw the record of the arrival of the Cylon who had been standing in front of him—who was then calling himself Lucifer—the bringer of light. He saw how Lucifer had played on the fears of loosing a war to the Hisaris, and encouraged the building of the Centurion army. He saw how the real Cylons had been beaten, nearly exterminated, and finally subjugated by the robot warriors. And he saw what those robots—nominally under the control of an organic Cylon like himself—had done to other living races across the centuries.   
And he was horrified.

* * *

  
The launch order came sooner than Starbuck had expected it. Then again, he thought, maybe he'd mistranslated the Earth time units.   
But when he did launch, he realized something was wrong.   
"Yo, Apollo," he said over the comm system. "I thought we were supposed to be rendezvousing with the _Galactica_, but I don't see her."   
"There's been a change in the plans," Apollo said. "Wait a centon—I'm putting this on unicom. Blue Squadron, this is Major Apollo. We have new orders. We are to engage the Cylon forces and delay them as long as possible. We will not be meeting up with the Galactica at this time. Apollo out."   
_Great. Just great,_ Starbuck thought.   
The colonial vipers had been the first fighters launched. Blue Squadron formed up with the other Colonial squadrons as the Earth Alliance fighters were launched. Star-shaped craft. _(Maybe that's why they're called starfuries_, Starbuck thought.) Small. Light. Apparently very quick and maneuverable.   
And as the Earth fighters formed up, Starbuck's scanner alarm sounded. Waves of Cylon raiders were closing rapidly.   
_But if there's no _Galactica_, and therefore no ambush, then where are the Cylons coming from_? he wondered.   
"OK, Blue Squadron," Apollo's voice came over unicomm again. "Silver Spar Squadron has the first run, followed by Raptor Squadron from the _Nimitz_, then us. Understood?"   
A murmur of acknowledgement flowed from the other members of the squadron.   
"Uh, Apollo? I have a question," Starbuck said.   
"Yes, Starbuck?"   
"If there's no ambush, where are the Cylon fighters coming from?"   
"From the three baseships."   
Starbuck thought Apollo sounded eerily matter-of-fact about that answer.   
"I see," Starbuck said. "Just us against three baseships and all of their squadrons."   
"For now," Apollo said. "Reinforcements are supposed to be on the way. We only have to hold the Cylons here until they arrive."   
_I'd give anything for a fumerelo right now_, Starbuck thought. His stomach tied itself into a knot—something he hadn't felt since the battle of Caprica. As a betting man, he did not like these odds. Three baseships had been enough to wipe out five battlestars at Caprica. And while the Earth cruisers seemed like respectable ships, they were each a third the size of a battlestar.   
_ Only one thing to do_, Starbuck thought, _And that's to take as many of them with me as I can._   


* * *

The battle wasn't going well. Not that it was going _poorly_, Susan Ivanova thought. The starfury and viper squadrons were making mincemeat of the Cylon fighters. And the baseships were fleeing. Which meant that the destroyers were not going to be in danger. And in general terms, one could call this battle a rout.   
Except that merely _routing_ the Cylons wasn't Ivanova's mission.   
The baseships were fleeing the area at maximum speed. At that rate, with the lead they already had, Ivanova's force wouldn't be able to catch them.   
"Dammit, where are those _White Stars_?" she asked, pounding her fist on the arm of her command chair.   
As if on cue, white points formed around the battle zone, and widened into jump points. The _White Stars_ and Minbari capital ships cruised into normal space.   
Ivanova tapped the control on her chair, opening communications with her fleet. "Ivanova to fleet," she said. "We will execute as follows: _White Stars_, move in and eliminate the enemy's anti-ship weapons. When that is completed, the Minbari cruisers will move in and attack the enemy capital ships. In the meantime, we'll keep the enemy fighters occupied. Ivanova out."   
The _White Star_ ships careened ahead, slipping in and among the basestars, firing as they went. The Minbari cruisers launched their fighters, which quickly fell into formation and helped engage the Cylon fighters.   
_ How unusual_, Ivanova thought. _Everything seems to be under control. _It would figure, though, she thought, if something completely unexpected were to happen now.   
And with that thought, the world around her vanished and went dark, and was replaced by a vision of Lyta Alexander.   


* * *

  
"And what is your choice?" the human asked J'Orar.   
"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, Lyta," Iblis said. "He may choose as he wishes. But the power and authority here still lies in _my_ voice. He wields that power at _my_ discretion."   
The human looked surprised. "I'd never have thought of that," she said. "Thank you for telling me." She nodded at J'Orar. "Choose. Whatever your choice, you will still have authority here."   
"You destroyed the Cylon people," J'Orar said. "You blinded and tricked us. And in our name you have rampaged across the galaxy. Leave us. Now."   
The human looked at Iblis. "You know I have the power to enforce that," she said.   
"Unnecessary," Iblis said, grinning. "I do not stay where I am unwelcome. I yet have allies across the universe. And this day—and you, Lyta Alexander—will not be forgotten."   
Iblis shimmered, and resolved into a ball of light which hovered briefly, before shooting up and out of the basestar.   
"Centurion," J'Orar said, using the Imperious Leader voice.   
"By your command."   
"Issue the recall order to our fighters, and prepare to stand down."   
"Sir, our situation is grave. Our supporting basestars have lost their anti-ship weapons. The basestar commanders believe that enemy capital ships will attack soon."   
"I will take care of that," the human said, and vanished.   
"I understand the situation, Centurion. Nevertheless, recall our forces."   
"By your command."   


* * *

  
Lyta—glowing—was floating in the black in front of Ivanova.   
"Susan, I need for you to recall the forces attacking the Cylons."   
"Lyta, you know I can't do that," Ivanova replied.   
"It's hard to explain," Lyta said, "but there's been a change of leadership in the Cylon forces. They are no longer a threat."   
"Given all we've been told about them, I'm having a hard time believing that."   
"You'll have to trust me," Lyta said.   
"No offense," Ivanova said, "But trusting telepaths isn't my strong suit."   
"And after all that's happened over the last year," Lyta said, "Trusting normals isn't mine. But _you_ have _my_ trust."   
Ivanova sighed. And then nodded. And the world moved back to normal.   
"Captain, are you all right?" The _Warlock_'s XO was peering at her. "You seemed out of it for a few moments."   
"I'm fine," she replied. "What's our status?"   
The XO seemed unsure of how to start. "Well, the enemy has slowed to a dead stop, and apparently recalled their fighters. They're sitting ducks."   
_ That would seem to support Lyta's assertion_, Ivanova thought. _Worst case, if we withdraw and it's a trick, the _White Stars_ and Minbari cruisers could move in before they could get most of their forces in the air_.   
"Recall our forces, and order the fleet to stand by," Ivanova said.   
"Sir?"   
"I have it on good authority that the situation has changed," she said. "We'll hold here, but on high alert. And see if you can get the President on the line."   
"Yes, sir."   


* * *

**Epilogue**

Somewhere, across the universe, a scarred and battered warship hangs amid a camouflage of asteroids and junk and debris.   
On the bridge of that warship, a Colonial colonel has been monitoring and analyzing stray communications transmissions.   
"It's unmistakable, Commander," the colonel said. "It's been going on for weeks—the Cylon Empire is embroiled in a civil war. _And_ there is an alliance of humans and other races _supporting_ one of the factions."   
"He did it," the Commander said. "By the Lords of Kobol, Adama did it. And not only did he find Earth, but he turned the Cylons against each other."   
The commander took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out, and smiled. "This is it, Tolen," he said. "Set course along the _Galactica_'s last known bearing, and prepare to move out. Inform the rest of the crew."   
"Yes, Commander Cain," Tolen replied.   
And somewhere, across the universe, the Battlestar _Pegasus_ stirred from its hiding place, and began to move across the stars…


End file.
